


Rest Stop

by happywriter16



Category: Justified, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Raylan Givens, Blow Jobs, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, fail at pwp, got the plot a little porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywriter16/pseuds/happywriter16
Summary: What happens when Raylan and Dean meet at a restaurant on some Kentucky road.





	1. Raylan

**Author's Note:**

> AU for obvious reasons based on the pairing but also because Raylan served in the Marines. In the novel Pronto, he served but not in the TV show. I’ve been wanting to write a crossover between these 2 fandoms forever. This was not what I thought I’d write. It takes place early in S1 of the Justified universe but it's sometime in the later seasons of SPN, like after S3, because in my head Dean is older.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in the way the guy’s appraising him, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on the cowboy hat in his hands, that keeps him standing. He can’t tell if it’s to size him up for a fight or something else from the tension in the guy’s shoulders.

He’s hungry. His usual breakfast of coffee, coffee and a donut because someone (today Jeanine) brought them into the office (never him much to the chagrin of everyone who does), has long since been digested. Hungry and angry is never a good combination but he’d wanted to get plenty of road between him and Harlan before he gave in and pulled over to get something to eat. He’s been back a month and the pull to hit the road and get out of Harlan as soon as whatever business has him there is done hasn’t left him yet. He hopes it will soon or else the next year (because it was going to be at least a year before anyone even thinks about him leaving) is gonna be hell. He’d lived through worse hells but that doesn’t mean he wants to experience anything close to any of them again. 

By the time he gives in, Gert’s is a mile up the road. Gert’s never been busy as far as he can tell. At least every time he goes, it’s him and a couple of other folks in the place. It’s always been this way, since before he left Kentucky (not just Harlan) for good (or so he thought). He doesn’t know how it stays in business. This time’s no different. There’s a black car in the gravel area cum parking lot on both sides of the building. A muscle car. Something a collector would have but wouldn’t drive much unless to show it off. It looks cared for. 

Raylan’s never been into cars but he knows it’s got to be from the 70s, maybe even the 60s. He knows a little something about cars from one of his neighbors in Virginia, when he was at Glynco. The guy’s retired FBI, taught at the school sometimes; mostly hung around his house working on his cars. His wife, Bette, took a liking to Winona so the two couples had dinner together sometimes. While the wives talked in Bette’s backyard garden, he and Errol talked in Errol’s garage - Raylan sitting and drinking while Errol worked on his latest project explaining what is was doing to the car. 

Somehow Gert’s manages to keep at it. Whatever money they make not going into up keep. The wood is faded, the red now a pale pink, bleached by the sun. Torture would be having to run your fingertips over any of the wood, it splintered and sticking up in places. The handle of the screen door was shiny at one time, now it’s dull in spots from the hundreds of times it’s been touched. 

Raylan doesn’t know if the screen door ever closed quietly so he holds it, doesn’t let it slam and disturb the quiet in the place. The lights are low to account for the blinds being opened, partially so the patrons don’t have to bear the full brunt of the sun’s rays. That’s how you know they’re open. They’ve never had a sign that says open or closed or even to let you know the hours as long as he's known of the place's existence. Like it’s some secret. More like the owners probably didn’t know what they were doing opening a business way back when. 

There’s only one other guy in the place, sitting at a table a few feet away from the door, his head coming up at the sound of Raylan entering. 

“You must be the owner of that beauty outside,” Raylan says. He’s got manners, contrary to what Rachel may think at times. He was raised to be a southern gentleman despite his home life and the holler outside his door. His mama said he was meant to leave Harlan and nothing he saw or heard in Harlan suggested otherwise. 

Something in the way the guy’s appraising him, looking him up and down, eyes lingering on the cowboy hat in his hands, that keeps him standing. He can’t tell if it’s to size him up for a fight or something else from the tension in the guy’s shoulders. Either way, Raylan’s up for it. The anger from earlier is still fresh because it always takes something, usually a drink, for it to be forgotten until the next time he’s reminded of why he left and swore never to come back. “You must be right,” he says, face neutral even if the words and him relaxing suggests something else. 

He’s knows an invitation when he hears it. He walks closer to the table, to the chair that’s across from the guy. He eyes the seat then looks at the guy. The guy nods. Raylan sits, pulling out the other seat at the table to place his hat. 

“You’re not from around here,” Raylans says, more a statement than a question, because something about this guy screams passing through. 

“Neither are you,” the guy says, leaning back in his chair. 

Raylan huffs. “Born and raised. Just been gone awhile.”

“Glad to be back?”

“Fuck no,” Raylan says, this time a full out laugh. “Where you from?”

Raylan notices the slight hesitation. He knows the guy hasn’t seen his badge because he’s careful about flashing it before he needs to. “Everywhere.”

“Military brat?”

This time the guy huffs. “Something like that. Dad was in the Marines.”

“Semper fidelis.”

“You served?” The guy looks surprised. When Raylan nods, the guy adds, “Once a marine always a marine, right?”

“Something like that.” Raylan says, shifting slightly. Four years of his life. He doesn’t talk about it much except for the occasion throwaway line about the military that only Tim gets. “Anyway, the only good thing about being back here is places like this. Can’t beat the food. Great apple pie.”

“Guess it’s my lucky day then,” the guys says, smiling wide like the idea of pie really makes him happy. His eyes have a twinkle in them and his dimples are deep in his face. 

 

It’s a bitch walking outside, back into heat, the sun still high in the sky, even though it’s nearly four in the afternoon. Dean says as much. Raylan can hear him say son of bitch under his breath. Before Raylan can say anything, Dean’s asking, “Since you’re from around here, any recommendations on where to stay?”

In the sunlight, Raylan can make out the green color of Dean’s eyes and freckles on his face. They’d been doing a fair amount of flirting, first feeling each other out like guys like them do in places like the back roads, highways and byways, city streets of Kentucky. Seeing him in the full light of the day, he’s got to be one of the hottest guys Raylan’s ever come across. 

A smile spreads across Raylan’s face. “Only place I know of is where I’m staying.”

“You live in a hotel? On purpose?”

“More like motel.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “On purpose?”

“I just got back into town.” 

“Still. I’ve stayed in my far share of motels. They suck even if it’s only for a night.” Raylan just shrugs. “How far is it?”

“Hour or so.”

“How long you staying?”

“The night.”

“Why waste the money? I have plenty of room.”

 

“I thought you said you had room for me?” Dean says upon entering Raylan’s room. It’s your typical motel room. This one looks like it was decorated in tones of brown back in the eighties. 

Raylan turns as he places his hat on the table, looks at the bed then at Dean. “Bed looks big enough for the both of us to me.” 

Dean looks back at it like he’s really trying to figure out if it’s really big enough. 

“Trust me,” Raylan says, closing the distance between the two of them until Dean’s pressed against the door. 

Raylan still has the gun and badge on his belt. From the slight discomfort flitting across Deans’ features, Raylan knows it’s pressing into his stomach. Raylan pulls away and takes it off. He sets everything by his hat. He looks up to find Dean looking at the table. “I’ve never had to use it in a situation like this. I don’t plan on breaking that streak.”

Dean looks up and licks his lips. “Trust me cowboy, I’m not looking for that kind of trouble.” He takes off his jacket and throws on the nearest chair.

 

Finally getting to taste those lips is as good as he expected. Plush against his own. A touch chapped. When Raylan pulls back, he runs a finger across them. He watches his finger, eyes pulling back to look at Dean when Dean says, “I want to suck you.”

This clearly isn’t Dean’s first time the way the words come out around a soft moan, no apprehension in his voice. Still Raylan pauses. He knows a man that looks like Dean has heard boys and men say just what his lips are good for whether they mean it to tear him down or otherwise. 

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s why I said, I want to.” Dean smiles then, predatory, as he pushes Raylan back towards the bed. Raylan plops on his butt then leans back as Dean pushes on his chest. He winds up on his forearms as he watches Dean drop to his knees. He watches Dean’s face as he works opens Raylan’s jeans and slides his underwear and jeans down his legs, with some assistance. When they get stuck at his boots, Dean looks a little frustrated like he forgot they were there. He takes them off of Raylan, throwing them and the pants over his shoulder. When Raylan laughs, Dean laughs, too. 

Then he’s grabbing Raylan, his grip, firm, hard, hot. Raylan moans and Dean smirks. His hand is nothing compared to the hot pressure of his mouth. Swallowing him all the way down, hint of teeth sometimes, the slide of the spit. Dean works him good, a good rhythm that has him getting to his climax faster than he’d like. When he feels the first telltale signs that he’s about to come, he extends his hand to pull at Dean’s hair. It doesn’t have the intended effect. It spurs Dean on instead. Raylan has to sit up and push. “Stop,” he orders. 

Dean just keeps getting hotter. Lips red, wet. Hair mussed and sticking to his forehead. Skin flushed from the top of his head down to his chest. 

“Stand up and come here,” Raylan tells him. Dean does as he’s told, stripping off his clothes and boots in the process. He takes his pants off first. There’s something ridiculous yet sexy about Dean standing in just his t-shirt and black button down. 

“You just going to look?”

“You in a rush Dean?”

Then the shirts, which Dean throws in his direction, which Raylan then throws behind him. Raylan could tell Dean was built, not overly so, under his clothes. From the way his jeans hugged his legs. Dean’s cock is nice and big, hard and leaking, hot and ready. 

Raylan runs his tongue over his lips. He’s not as good at this like Dean is. Truthfully, he prefers to be blown and it’s been awhile since the person leaving his bed in the morning (or night) had a cock. The last time was in Miami, some frat boy, not usual type, but the guy was so damn pretty and eager. He was on Raylan like a tick on a hound dog. 

Raylan goes for it anyway, swirling his tongue around the head before swallowing as much of Dean he can take. The groan he elicits from Dean is a very good sign. Raylan relaxes his jaw, tries to remember all things he likes, tries to do them as well as Dean had. Dean is better at getting him to stop, pushing hard on his shoulders. 

“Where do you keep your stuff – this one or that one?” Dean asks, voice kinda shaky. He’s pointing to the nightstands, the one on the right then the left.

“The one by the wall.”

Dean plops down next to him like a kid causing Raylan to bounce up a little. He can’t help but laugh at what just happened. The childlike smile that Dean gives him is at once out of place and perfect. He turns and then slides across the bed to open the nightstand drawer. His ass is right by Raylan’s face so Raylan does what any man in his situation would do. He slaps it. 

“Hey now,” Dean says, “That’ll be extra.”

“I get paid on Friday.”

“Good thing it’s Thursday,” Dean tells him as he passes the condom to Raylan and opens the lube for himself. He then lies back on the bed, knees bent to open himself up. Raylan just stares, mesmerized like he’s never seen this before. He doesn’t get it into gear until Dean’s stopped and then starts lazily stroking his cock. "I'm in no hurry but..." Dean trails off, strokes speeding up just a touch.

Raylan starts moving then, putting on the condom first then moving to fit himself between Dean’s legs. He has to take his shirt off, somehow having forgotten about it before now. He lines himself up to push in slowly. No matter how many times he’s done this, the initial push all the way in (always tight and hot) elicits a full body shudder that has him thinking of ways to not come on the spot. 

 

“You a real life cowboy, huh?” Dean’s not looking at him, chin resting in his hands as he lies on his stomach. 

“Never rode a horse in my life.” Raylan says from the other side of the bed as he lies on his back, hands behind his head. “I take that back. Once, a long time ago.” He won’t go into the story for that would require thinking about Arlo. 

“Sounds like a story.”

“A long one, one I don’t feel like telling.” 

“Well, what’s with the hat?”

“Just a hat. Liked it, brought it, been wearing it ever since.”

“That’s disappointing,” Dean says. 

Raylan turns to looks at him. “Why?” He can guess. If he had a dime for every time somebody he hooked up with wanted to wear it while he fucked them or he wore it during the act (acts) or managed to say cowboy during the encounter (probably more times than they’ve ever said it in their whole lives up to that point), he’d be rich. 

“I’ve never met a real life cowboy before.” Raylan laughs. “Guess, we’ll just have to pretend,” Dean says, sliding on top of Raylan. 

 

Raylan’s alarm goes off at the ungodly (for him) hour of 7:45 am. Dean’s stretched out beside him on his stomach, both hands tucked under the pillow, one leg kicked higher than the other so Raylan would have a great view of his hole if he was standing at the foot of the bed. The alarm didn’t wake him. He could wake up him with a morning fuck but that’ll make him late and Art would kill him. He’s not in the mood for that kind of ass chewing. 

After showering, he leaves a note for Dean. _Stay if you like. Back around 6._ He’s not worried about his place. He’s got nothing worth taking. 

 

Dean’s car is still in the parking lot when he gets back to his place. He’s lying on the bed, fully dressed to include boots, flipping through a magazine. “Still here, huh?”

He tosses the magazine aside and turns to place his feet on the ground. “Told you, it’s extra for the spanking and it’s Friday.”

“It was one slap.”

“Still counts,” Dean explains, coming to stand right in front of Raylan. 

“Let me buy you dinner. Dessert first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


	2. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the light being low and the guy a few feet away, it’s hard to make out all the features on his face. But his small smile is nice, his hair’s a little long, and something in his stance perks Dean’s interest. He looks this guy in the eye then lets his eyes give him the once over. His eyes catch on the cowboy hat in his hands.

“You must be the owner of that beauty outside.” Dean’s used to getting compliments on his baby. Like dogs and cute kids, it’s a chick magnet. Dude magnet, too, sometimes. Dean looks up at the words, face neutral until he actually sees the guy. They’re the only patrons in the place, the waitress’s in the back. She should be coming out soon if her hollering out “Be right there” is true. It’s been a good five minutes, though, and he’s hungry. He didn’t bother stopping to get breakfast. He just wanted to get the fuck out of Ohio. The place didn’t look like it was open but he took a chance anyway. As far as he knows there's not shit else for miles on the road he’s taking to Fuckallville. 

With the light being low and the guy a few feet away, it’s hard to make out all the features on his face. But his small smile is nice, his hair’s a little long, and something in his stance perks Dean’s interest. He looks this guy in the eye then lets his eyes give him the once over. His eyes catch on the cowboy hat in his hands. 

“You must be right,” Dean says. 

The Cowboy walks closer to the table, to the chair that’s across from the Dean. He eyes the seat then looks back at Dean. The Cowboy sits after Dean nods, pulling out the other seat at the table to place his hat. He wasn’t in the mood for company but what the Cowboy may be offering is exactly what he needs. 

“You’re not from around here,” the Cowboy says, more a statement than a question. 

“Neither are you,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair. 

The Cowboy huffs. “Born and raised. Just been gone awhile.”

“Glad to be back?”

“Fuck no,” the Cowboy laughs. 

“Where you from?”

Dean hesitates for just a few seconds. A lie not at the ready. He’ll blame it on the shit (more like who) he’s just left. “Everywhere.”

“Military brat?”

“Something like that. Dad was in the Marines.”

“Semper fidelis.”

“Once a marine always a marine, right?” So the Cowboy is a former Marine. He doesn’t look like a Marine. Not like his dad or the few guys he knew that served with his dad. Granted, that was a very long time ago. But still. He remembers. This guy’s tall and lanky, looks like he might not last a day in the jungle. Not that Marines are fighting in the jungles nowadays. 

“Something like that,” the Cowboy says before changing the subject. He’s talking about pie (and who doesn’t love pie?). 

 

The sun’s damn near blinding, at least it feels that way, when he steps out into the light. “Son of bitch,” Dean swears. He says it again but only loud enough for him to hear when he sees the car Raylan's walking towards. Fed. Totally a Fed car. His “what no horse?” joke lost at the site of the car. 

The smart move would be to say goodbye, say he really has to hit the road. That all the flirting was just that, not meant to lead anywhere. It’s not like Dean's hard up (though it’s been a little while). He manages to find some willing woman more often than not. It’s been a while with a guy though. And if Raylan’s good looks and charm are anything to go by, he’d be missing out. And Raylan doesn’t seem to know who he is. Either he’s that good to make Dean think he has no idea who he is or he really doesn’t know. 

At the driver’s side door, Dean finds himself asking, “Since you’re from around here, any recommendations on where to stay?”

A smile spreads across Raylan’s face. “Only place I know of is where I’m staying.”

“You live in a hotel? On purpose?”

“More like motel.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “On purpose?”

“I just got back into town.” 

“Still. I’ve stayed in my far share of motels. They suck even if it’s only for a night.” Raylan just shrugs. “How far is it?”

“Hour or so.”

“How long you staying?”

“The night.”

“Why waste the money? I have plenty of room.”

 

Dean can’t believe anyone with a legit job would purposefully bed down for long in the motel coming into view. Raylan’s waiting for him on the porch (he’s being generous). 

“I thought you said you had room for me?” Dean says upon entering Raylan’s room. The room’s standard size. This one looks like it was decorated in tones of brown back in the eighties. The bed’s plenty big enough but he likes messing with Raylan. They did a fair amount of flirting, first feeling each other out like guys like them do in places like the back roads, highways and byways, on the city streets of Kentucky. 

Raylan turns as he places his hat on the table, looks at the bed then at Dean. “Bed looks big enough for the both of us to me.” 

Dean looks back at the bed, turning his head this way and that like he’s really trying to figure out if it’s really big enough. 

He turns at Raylan’s words, “Trust me” and let's Raylan close the distance between them until Dean’s pressed against the door. 

Raylan still has the gun and badge on his belt. Dean can feel it through the fabric of his shirt, pressed into his belly. Seeming to recognize it might be causing Dean some discomfort, Raylan pulls away and takes it off. He sets everything by his hat. 

He looks up to find Dean looking at it. “I’ve never had to use it in a situation like this. I don’t plan on breaking that streak.”

Dean looks up and licks his lips. “Trust me cowboy, I’m not looking for that kind of trouble.” He takes off his jacket and throws it on the nearest chair.

 

A shrink would probably have something to say about his fighting and fucking his way across the country. He doesn’t care. It feels good, especially good those times when an opportunity like this presents itself. 

“I want to suck you.” Raylan pauses. Dean appreciates the concern, the way Raylan looks at him. It might be the only time he's ever seen it.

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s why I said, I want to.” 

Dean smiles at Raylan, this time backs him up. Raylan plops on the bed then leans back as Dean pushes on his chest. He winds up on his forearms, watching Dean drop to his knees. Dean can feel Raylan’s eyes on him as he works open Raylan’s jeans. He slides his underwear and jeans down his legs. He takes them off of Raylan and takes off his boots (fucking boots in the way), throwing everything over his shoulder. When Raylan laughs, he laughs, too. 

Dean doesn’t waste time, just grabs Raylan's cock firmly, running his hand up and down, the skin smooth and hot. Raylan moans and Dean can’t help but smirk. After having teased Raylan enough, he swallows him all the way down, hint of teeth sometimes. Dean works him good, a good rhythm that has never failed him. Jaw and throat relaxed to take as much as he can. Raylan pulls at his hair, a tell tell sign that Dean knows what he’s doing. The next thing he knows is Raylan's pushing at him, ordering him to stop. 

“Stand up and come here,” Raylan tells him. Dean does as he’s told; his hands go to his belt while his eyes stay focused on Raylan. He takes his time unbuckling the belt, undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. Raylan seems to be enjoying the show as he lies back on his forearms once again. Dean has to toe off his boots before pushing his underwear and pants down his hips before stepping out of them. 

“You just going to look?”

“You in a rush Dean?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, just smirks and walks over to the bed, taking his shirts off in the process, throwing them in Raylan’s direction. Raylan catches them as he laughs, throwing them over his shoulder.

As Dean approaches, Raylan runs his tongue over his lips. Dean recognizes the touch of nervousness mixed with the want. Raylan doesn’t have to return the favor, at least not now. He’s about to tell him when he sees Raylan take a deep breath before reaching for Dean’s cock. 

He takes Dean in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head before swallowing more of him. He’s not great at it – a little sloppy, probably too much spit – but it’ll do, the pressure from his mouth and hand are good enough to get to him almost there. He doesn’t want to come like this. Dean pushes hard on Raylan’s shoulders.

Dean notices the sweat on Raylan’s face, the creases in his forehead, the corners of his eyes, his lips (thinner than his) but just as pink, especially now, slick with cum and spit, as he looks up questioningly. “Where do you keep your stuff – this one or that one?” Dean asks, voice kinda shaky. He points to the nightstands, the one on the right then the left.

“The one by the wall.”

He plops down next to Raylan causing Raylan to bounce up a little. Raylan laughs and he can’t help but laugh right along with him. He turns and then slides across the bed to open the nightstand drawer.  


“Hey now,” Dean says, at Raylan slapping his ass. “That’ll be extra,” he tells him as he turns over. 

“I get paid on Friday.”

“Good thing it’s Thursday,” Dean tells him as he passes the condom to Raylan and opens the lube for himself. He lies back on the bed, knees bent to open himself up. He watches Raylan’s face as he opens himself up with two fingers. He knows he should probably take a few more minutes to prep himself but he doesn’t mind the extra burn. He starts stroking himself waiting for Raylan to get together. When he doesn't move fast enough for Dean's liking, he says, "I'm in no hurry but..." Letting his words trail off as his strokes speed up a bit. 

Raylan stops staring then, puts on the condom on first then is moving to fit himself between Dean’s legs. He has to take his shirt off first before lining himself up to push in slowly. Raylan’s smaller than him not by much in height, more in weight. But what he has is nice, solid, defined enough to be very appealing. 

“Ready?” Dean asks.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Raylan asks before pushing in then falling forward to kiss Dean. 

 

“You a real life cowboy, huh?” Dean’s not looking at him as he rests his chin on his hands as he lies on his stomach. 

“Never rode a horse in my life.” Raylan says from the other side of the bed as he lies on his back, hands behind his head. “I take that back. Once, a long time ago.”

“Sounds like a story.” Dean wonders what could possibly be the story about riding horse. 

“A long one, one I don’t feel like telling.” Dean can hear the slight edge that has crept into Raylan’s voice. It’s not like he can begrudge the guy not wanting to talk. 

“Well, what’s with the hat?”

“Just a hat. Liked it, brought it, been wearing it ever since.”

“That’s disappointing,” Dean says, turning over. 

Raylan looks at him. “Why?”

“I’ve never met a real life cowboy before.” Raylan laughs. “Guess, we’ll just have to pretend,” he says, sliding on top of Raylan. Yes, it’s cheesy as fuck but he doesn’t give a shit right now. They’ve waited long enough for round two. 

 

The note is the first thing Dean sees when his eyes finally focus. _Stay if you like. Back around 6._ “Huh,” Dean says to himself. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened. He hasn’t stuck around for the morning after in some months if he bothers to really think about it. 

After showering and going out to get breakfast, Dean goes back to Raylan’s room. He snoops. Except for lack of newspaper clipping on the walls and a bag of weapons, this could be any motel room he’s shared with Sam. He stops that train of thought before it gets too far. He goes back out to kill some time. He’s never been to Lexington before. 

 

He’s lying on the bed flipping through a magazine when he hears Raylan’s key in the lock. 

“Still here, huh?”

He tosses the magazine aside and turns to place his feet on the ground. “Told you, it’s extra for the spanking and it’s Friday.”

“It was one slap.”

“Still counts,” Dean explains, coming to stand right in front of Raylan. 

“Let me buy you dinner. Dessert first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twice as nice, right? The muse was like, "There will be plot!" Hope you liked it!


End file.
